Can the Devil Speak True?
by eliethelionheart
Summary: His dad had always referred to him by his given name, but he had better memories of his mother whispering his middle name into his ear, arms around him as if they were her very own angel wings, and the dust tickling his nose was her feathers.


A mugger, Bruce and his father told everyone. The category "everyone" included neighbors, women with food, the police, and the court. A mugger in the middle of nowhere, Ohio (for that was where the Banners lived) looking for money or a set of car keys so they could skip town.

_mugger (noun): a person who assaults another person in order to rob from him or her_

Bruce's head was all very scattered from everything that had happened. He was twelve, and in shock. He knew what that was, but didn't interrupt the doctors when they explained it to him. They asked him about what had happened, too. His answer for them was more vacant, still trying to put it all together.

"Take your time and try to explain to us what happened," they all had said. Bruce tried. He told them about the mugger, about where and when it happened, pointing to the spots on the blacktop of the driveway and repeating "I don't know" and "I'm not sure" like mantras that would make everything better. He forced himself to memorize all of the words of his recollection, and when the whole thing blew over, he forced himself to forget. But he knew it had been with a mugger.

Even though the driveway had already been cleaned, Mr. Banner had his son scrub it again, as if it would erase what had been done right in front of their little house.

When the sky was black as a midnight ocean, Bruce would sit in the bathroom, curled up in the tub with the shower curtain drawn, listening to the roaring of the TV and the clank of beer bottles as his dad tried to forget his wife. Bruce didn't think it worked as well as either of them liked.

The teachers at school gave their apologies to the boy, gave a quick touch to the shoulder, but the other kids didn't care about pity or empathy, just continued to throw things at him. It was worse when they found out what had happened. When he would try to give a presentation or read an essay at the front of the class, they would caterwaul over his voice and tell him to join his mother. Bruce considered that a lot. His dad would punish him for being late getting home after hours of being trapped in cramped lockers and closets by the same kids.

_bully (noun): a person who uses strength or power to harm or intimidate those who are weaker_

The punishments were worse when Mr. Banner found a picture of Bruce's mother under his son's pillow. He asked if Bruce kissed it every night before bed, whispered to it in hopes of getting an answer. Bruce had to scrub the driveway again with a split lip and yellowing bruise forming on his cheekbone, and was promised no dinner for that night. Bruce accepted the punishment as getting off light and didn't say a word about food.

_stash (noun): a secret store of something_

A mugger, Bruce chanted silently each night as he fell asleep. It was a mugger. There would be sticky tracks on his cheeks the next morning, and each night he looked underneath his pillow for his little piece of heaven, only for it to be gone. All pictures of his mother had been taken out of the house or left to curl up into black ashes in the fireplace.

Bruce wondered if his father had ever loved his mother. Where had he been when she was killed?

But it hadn't been Mr. Banner's fault. It was Bruce's fault. He had been there, his father had not. If Bruce had only done something to stop the mugger, then his mother would be alive. There would be no scrubbing of the driveway or late-night one-sided arguments his father had with himself, with whomever he was hallucinating, gesturing at with beer bottles.

He was shaken awake in the middle of a smothered night by his dad, who was red in the face. He smelled like his beer bottles. "Get up," his dad ordered, voice harsh. "Don't you know? Your mother's dead, Robert. She was killed. Don't you see the blood on the driveway out front? Your mother's dead."

Bruce cowered away. "Dad- I know. That was weeks ago, I saw her- Dad, that was months-"

Mr. Banner shoved him away in disgust. "The hell kinda son are you? Don't you see all this blood?" He held up his clean hands. "Don't you see the blood out front?" He took a fistful of his son's curly hair and dragged him to the window, forcing Bruce to look out at the freshly-scrubbed driveway. "Don't you see her lying there? Staring! You know who killed her, Robbie!" He shook the poor boy by the hair. "Don't you see the blood! You told, didn't ya?"

Bruce's clothing had been covered with her blood, and he had to get new shoes because the toes had been soaked red. He knew who had killed her, too, but he answered instead,"A- a mugger, dad. I saw it-"

"You saw but you didn't do, Robert!" Mr. Banner accused, shaking his son once more. That was all he would say after that, and even though he did hit Bruce hard enough to make him dizzy, he didn't make him clean the driveway.

Bruce wished all of his punishments were that easy.

When he closed his eyes each night, turning the gray a simple black, Bruce dreamed of the man who had killed his mother. The vivid image was of a furious face, a fist shrouded in flames, and the devil's voice saying "Her blood's on you, Robert Bruce Banner." Cold showers did nothing to stop the feeling of a viscous liquid seeping into his hair and rolling down his nose, squelching in his fists and shoes when he was awake.

It was a mugger, Bruce would remind himself every morning, and leave it at that.

_lie (noun): an intentionally false statement_


End file.
